


crackling gold glass

by mayfieldsmayhem



Category: Sally Face (Video Games)
Genre: Alcohol Abuse/Alcoholism, Childhood Trauma, Gen, I'm soft for these two, NOT to be read as salarry, Panic Attacks, they're good bros that love and support each other, what's up im back with sf
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-01-22
Updated: 2020-01-22
Packaged: 2021-02-27 13:01:54
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,192
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22357615
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/mayfieldsmayhem/pseuds/mayfieldsmayhem
Summary: it's when larry hears his front door slam that he immediately knows something is very, very wrong.
Relationships: Sal Fisher & Larry Johnson - Relationship
Comments: 7
Kudos: 63





	crackling gold glass

**Author's Note:**

> howdy!! long time no see. i'm back and i've brought sally face (bc its my special interest currently)!  
> i love writing these two so much you have NO idea.  
> trigger warnings for: alcoholism/discussion thereof, panic attacks, and discussions of childhood trauma. i've written this from a place of familiarity, just as a reference! aka yes, my family also struggles with alcoholism on both sides and i've seen what it does to people.  
> if you need anything else tagged, lmk! otherwise, enjoy!!

it's when larry hears his front door slam that he immediately knows something is very wrong. sal, small and gentle and so kind, does not slam doors. in all the time he's known him (which, admittedly, has only been about a year now, but still), larry has never once witnessed sal slam a door, whether in a fit of anger or just because he's otherwise upset. 

larry has done it plenty of times, of course - tweenage drama and all that - but sal is the last person on earth he'd expect to hear it from, and so he rises from his easel, wipes his paint-speckled hands off on his jeans, and very carefully makes his way to his door to crack it open.

"sal? sally face?" he asks softly, and he can tell by the tension in his face that his eyebrows are drawn in concern and his eyes are narrowed. he shakes his head a bit; he'd hate to give sal the impression that he's angry or annoyed with him. "little dude?"

larry's heart practically drops into his stomach when he finally spots the other boy, back against the front door as though he'd slid down it with his knees drawn up under his chin. his arms are wrapped so tightly around his legs that his knuckles are white from the pressure, and to larry's horror, he's positively _trembling,_ letting out these muffled, faint sobs from where he's tucked into himself.

"oh shit, okay," he whispers, swiftly but cautiously making his way over to his friend. "okay. oh, bud."

"larry," sal wheezes, as though the very utterance of his name had been dragged from the very depths of his chest, unsteady and drawn-out. larry doesn't say another word just yet, though; what he does is drop to his knees, shuffle toward his best friend, and open up his arms.

that's all it takes. within a moment, sal practically leaps into his arms, pressing the cold, hard material of his prosthetic into larry's chest and wrapping his arms around his middle, fingers tangling loosely into the worn fabric of his old, paint-stained _sanity's fall_ t-shirt. larry can practically _feel_ his heart break when he realizes just how shaken up sal truly is, all the while remembering that sal hates having people see him like this. whatever happened to make him this upset, it sure as hell did its job well.

so well, in fact, that it becomes increasingly obvious that his prosthetic is currently acting as a vacuum to his face - the sharper the breaths he takes, the more the mask pulls against his skin. he's going to suffocate himself if he's not careful, and frankly, larry doesn't want to see that.

"'m gonna take this off," he warns, even though sal stiffens against him. "i won't look. i swear i won't. but you're not gonna be able to breathe much longer with that on."

he waits, then, for a response, and gets one in the form of a miniscule nod. he makes quick work of both sets of clasps in the back, and once loose he takes the prosthetic into his hands and very gently sets it aside. "there we go."

all larry can do is hold him as his barely-audible sobs turn into heavy, chest-splitting cries, high-pitched and sounding as though they're being wrenched from his throat. he can feel the wet spots where sal's now-bare face is pressed against his shirt. this... this has never happened before. larry gently maneuvers him into his lap, using one arm to wrap firmly around sal's shoulders and the other to reach up a hand and card through his hair. "hey, talk to me," he murmurs. "what's going on?"

"fucking," sal starts, taking a large, hiccuping breath, "go-goddamn it. my dad. my fucking - my dad -"

it feels like someone has poured ice water down the back of larry's shirt. "what did henry do? did he hurt you? has he _been_ hurting you?"

"n-no," sal stutters, grasping fistfuls of fabric around larry's waist. "no. not like that. he just - i got home, and he fucking _promised -"_ he takes another pause, then, and larry just smooths his hand up and down his back. "he promised - !"

"breathe," larry intervenes, "remember the thing you taught me? in for eight, out for four?"

sal makes this odd little breathy noise, but he nods nonetheless. he does the harder part for larry - he raises his arms on his own, and despite choking a little on the inhale, he manages to hold it for the eight seconds before blowing it out for the four. it takes a few minutes of this for either of them to really notice a difference, but once sal is relaxed enough to be breathing calmly, he just slumps against larry wordlessly and bonelessly, still trembling as though he were standing in below zero temperatures without a jacket.

larry gives him a few more moments to readjust before asking, cautiously, "what were you saying about your dad there, buddy?"

sal lets out a soft, shaking sigh. "i got home and he was f-fucking blackout drunk. again."

larry has to squeeze his eyes shut for a moment, then. "shit."

"and he promised," sal breathes, "that he wouldn't _do that anymore. _that i w-wouldn't have to - to pick up his fucking flasks and clean that stupid goddamn whiskey out of the _fucking_ carpet 'cause he was passed out and. he just?" sal gestures weakly with his hands, not at or about anything in particular, just to add some emphasis. "he said he'd _try,_ larry. he - he promised. i don't know why i'm so pissed. i know it's - it can't be easy."__

__then, nearly inaudible, sal whispers, "what am i doing wrong?"_ _

__"whoa," larry replies immediately, the fingers scritching against sal's skull stilling. "where'd you get that idea? why do you think it's _you?"__ _

__sal goes silent for a few moments, clearly either trying to decide upon a sound answer or debating on whether he should answer that question at all. his eye drifts shut, and he takes a deep breath, drawing his arms in and resting his hands against larry's chest. "he never... before the accident, dad didn't drink. or, if he d-did, he kept it away from home." he turns his face as though to hide it, breaths beginning to come out shaky again. "but i can... i c-can remember... bits and pieces of the after."_ _

__larry tilts his head down just enough to rest his chin on the top of sal's head, taking one of his hands and rubbing circles into his knuckles with his thumb. "i'm listening."_ _

__"it all - it all ha-happened so fast, i... everything hurt, larry. and my dad - he just dove right into it. the drinking." a pause. "we have a history of alcoholism, right? and there was this one time, when he was driving me back from the hospital..." he shudders again, and larry is suddenly fighting of the threatening sting of tears at the corners of his eyes. "i don't think he... dr-drove drunk or anything like that, he knew better. but his... his _problem_ makes him mean, i think. he's not... not a nice drunk."_ _

__sal keeps having to take breaks in his words every so often, and larry recognizes it as a valiant effort against crying any more than he already has. he's doing well so far, but with every word spoken, he seems to be having a harder time of it - not that larry blames him. he himself is feeling more than a tad royally pissed, but he is also feeling this horrible, aching empathetic pain and the nagging thought that he wishes he could make things better._ _

__"i didn't understand that mo-mom was dead," sal forces out, and it strikes larry right in the chest. "i said - my prosthetic used to be completely pink, you know? - i asked if mom would still... like me. with my new face." breathe, sigh. "he got so _mad,_ larry. i was... i was, like, five. i was so _little._ he said... he said, "mom's fucking dead! she's dead! she isn't - she isn't coming home!" and i remember my stomach..." sal's arms loop back around his waist there, and he just sounds so tired. "it just dropped. but i still... if i hadn't... if i didn't want to pet the fucking dog -"_ _

__"you were a kid," larry reminds him, squeezing his hand once. "you were just a kid. it wasn't your fault, dude."_ _

__"i -" sal folds what's left of his bottom lip between his teeth, eye still closed. "logically, i know that. i know. but also... i can't he-help but feel as though a lot of these problems wouldn't exist if i hadn't - hadn't been so..."_ _

__larry can tell that sal is at his limit. words are becoming too stressful for him to even handle speaking, but larry doesn't like what he's implying with what he _has_ said. "your dad drinking is - that's a choice _he_ made, sal. you didn't make it for him. he made his own stupid, shitty choice that ended up hurting you, whether he understands how badly or not. you went through hell, too, dude. he doesn't get to use it as an excuse to be an ass." _ _

__oddly enough, that draws a small, wet-sounding laugh from sal's lips. "you sound like my therapist," he murmurs, good eye crinkling at the corners when he opens it to look up into larry's face. "'s funny."_ _

__"your therapist must be talking some sense, then," larry huffs, though not unkindly; the pride he feels when that gets actual _giggles_ out of sal is almost otherworldly. the relief settles warmly and comfortably in the pit of his stomach, and after a moment, he knows sal will be okay. "but... seriously, dude, i mean it. not your fault. i can't pretend to know what it's like, but i do know that henry has to want to get better, too. you can’t do all the work by yourself."_ _

__sal quiets at that, but larry knows he's not going to cry anymore - he's just mulling it over, thinking of a reply. "thank you," he settles on eventually, and he sounds so genuinely, honestly thankful that larry finds himself trying not to cry again._ _

__"it's no problem, bud," he replies easily, squeezing sal once before patting the ground behind himself in search of his prosthetic. "oh! also, before i forget - i'm proud of you." his fingers finally close around one of the straps and he carefully presses it into his palm, not wanting to put too much strain on only one strap even though he knows sal's prosthetic can probably handle much more than that. larry would hate to see something happen to it because of his own clumsy ass, is all. "for letting me see. and letting me help you.”_ _

__sal ducks his head shyly as larry presses his prosthetic into his hands, but when he sits back up, he’s smiling. “yeah,” he says softly, bringing his mask up to his face before turning his head. “thank _you_ for listening and not, like, being pissed at the noise. can you - can you buckle these?”_ _

__“of course,” larry hums affirmatively and, careful to prevent any flyaway hairs from getting into the clasps, he hooks the straps at the back of sal’s head with ease. it’s a simple mechanism, really; larry figures it has something to do with the fact that sal’s been wearing one ever since he was a child, and so it was designed with the fact that a child wore it in mind; engineered just to make it easier to remove._ _

__“thanks,” sal says after a moment, returning to his spot against larry’s side. “i, uh, can i… can i stay here? i really don’t want to see my dad like that right now...”_ _

__“duh!” larry exclaims, a tinge of laughter colouring his voice. “i was kinda hopin’ you’d ask. if you didn’t, i would’ve asked you myself. ‘sides… i’d hate to send you back upstairs to that.”_ _

__even though larry can’t see sal’s face anymore, he can tell by the crinkle of his good eye that he’s smiling. just seeing him smile, feeling him relax against him as he comes down from his panic attack (larry thinks?), larry decides right then and there that he’d do anything to be there for sal. not that he hadn’t reached that conclusion already, but today just solidifies his determination. after all the shit his best friend has been through, larry figures it’s the least he could do._ _

__(larry knows that sal would do the same for him without hesitation, anyway.)_ _

__“c’mon,” larry says, patting sal’s shoulder as he tries to climb to his feet. his thighs have fallen asleep and erupt into tingling pins and needles the moment he straightens them out, and though he stumbles for a bit, he still leans down a hand for his friend to grab. “i’ll show you this painting i’m working on. it’s gonna be so cool!”_ _

__“sounds good to me,” sal replies gently, taking larry’s hand and lifting himself to his feet._ _

__larry knows he’s going to be okay._ _


End file.
